


Triage

by Joy_in_the_House



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Gen, James Wilson Needs a Hug, The nurses are awesome, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 14:34:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20968151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joy_in_the_House/pseuds/Joy_in_the_House
Summary: Triage is defined as assigning degrees of care urgency to a multi-casualty problem. It maximizes the efficiency of those providing care. If only the care providers were willing to triage themselves.





	Triage

**Author's Note:**

> I like this one, but not as much as the others.   
Whumptober 2019 - Prompt #24 "Secret Injury" and Alternate Prompt #15 "Field Medicine"

Princeton in winter was a formidable place. Ice on the roads often was the downfall of drivers who had absolutely no idea how to drive on it. Storms generally made for dangerous conditions where the hospitals were slammed in the emergency department.

Any physician not needed in their specialty was called in and assigned to the emergency department.

Wilson packed the last of the papers he would need for the next morning’s early board meeting, stopping when the phone rang. He reached over and picked up, eyes registering the 11:29 p.m.

“Dr. Wilson, you’re needed in the ED. We have two MVAs coming in with multiple casualties.”

“I’ll be there,” he replied, and rubbed his eyes as he hung up. Long night ahead.

Not even an hour later, Wilson had been put to work triaging the patients filing in the doors.

He finished taking the vitals of a young girl and gave her a sincere smile as he stood up to move on.

“Help!” came the shout from the doorway, and Wilson turned automatically.

A quick scan reminded him he was nearest the door, and he came over to the man.

The “how can I help” died on his lips as the man pointed out the door.

“My wife, we hit a pole, she’s trapped in our car, and nobody’s coming,” the man panted.

Wilson looked back over his shoulder to Cuddy.

“Go. You’re a surgeon, if she’s pinned she needs help.” Although Cuddy was brief, Wilson hesitated.

“Go!” she ordered, and Wilson made up his mind. He threw a spare lab coat on and grabbed a trauma bag from the desk. As he jogged by, the firefighter pushing a gurney past him tossed a free halligan, which he took gratefully.

The two men fell into a run, Wilson following the man in front of him.

“What’s your name?” he asked, focussing on avoiding the ice.

“Jennings,” he panted. “Dan Jennings. My wife’s name is Celia.”

There was a car ahead, barely visible through the whirling snow. Wilson could hear the woman’s cries before he saw her, and he snapped into doctor mode.

“Celia,” Dan called for her as he wrenched at the door. Wilson moved closer with a hand outreached to stop the husband.

“Ma’am, I’m James, I’m a doctor,” he shouted through the glass as the woman’s head began to loll.

She roused enough to look at him, and he smiled briefly at her before jamming the halligan into the door.

“Dan, I’m going to try and get this open,” he explained. “Be ready to hold her up once I get this out of the way. Don’t try to pull her out.”

Dan nodded, and Wilson took one quick breath before he wrenched at the door with all his might.

Several tries later and he had finally weakened the door enough to pull it open. Dan hurried in, holding the now limp Celia steady as Wilson threw aside the tool and moved closer.

He went for a pulse and swore under his breath when he found nothing but a thready murmur.

“Losing too much blood,” he muttered, rummaging through the trauma bag.

He made quick work of stabilizing her head before he moved down to where the front of the car had collapsed, pinning her legs in place.

He braced himself against the debris in an attempt to gently pull her out, but the wreckage was too twisted.

Dan fluttered nearby, his agitation only increasing with each passing moment.

Finally, Wilson shook his head. “Go back to the hospital. See if you can find someone,” he shouted through the wind. “I can’t get through this debris with just the two of us!”

Dan turned and ran, and Wilson turned back to his task. He focussed on packing gauze into the bleed as best he could.

The wind was vicious, biting into his neck and face, and he regretted not bringing his coat downstairs with him. He took a moment to blow on his hands, feeling them stiff and frozen. He pulled his lab coat tighter around him and set back to work.

Every time he checked Celia’s pulse it weakened, and he was beginning to feel the shock of the cold himself.

There was one long horrible moment as his hand stopped working, and he took the moment to shove it inside his coat. He looked around – no one seemed to come.

He turned back to the woman, blinking as the wind slammed into him once more. The snow stung his eyes.

It was so cold.

He pulled off his tie, packing more gauze into the wound and tying it as tight as he could.

He briefly contemplated climbing into the car, out of the wind.

“I can’t,” he muttered, eyes still on the woman. He checked the knot holding the gauze once more.

He checked for a pulse. He couldn’t feel one.

His head fell back on the car door.

He checked once more.

No pulse. No breaths.

He pushed the seat back as far as he could, trying to start compressions as best as he could in the awkward space.

“James!”

He kept going before he looked up. Dan and three others were running closer, he could just make them out through the storm.

Dan grabbed him, pulling him back.

He was too frozen to react, just watching numbly as the two firefighters pulled Celia out gently.

There were hands on his shoulders, and he looked up.

“Dr. Wilson, are you okay?”

He shook his head at Chase before turning to the others.

“She’s hypovolemic, hypothermic, no pulse,” he tried to tell them before Chase interrupted.

“We’ve got her now, Dr. Wilson,” he assured him, then looked at the other three men. “Let’s go.”

They started jogging towards the hospital, and Wilson stared after them as they disappeared in the swirling snow and darkness. He had lost sight of them before he realized he should have gone with them.

He allowed himself one moment to gather himself together before he pulled himself upright.

The ground seemed to buckle beneath him, and he leaned on the car for support, seeing his breath disappear in the icy night.

He took a step, feeling the cold numbness in his legs as he finally began to move. If he ran, he’d warm up.

He took another step, the sensation returning painfully.

Two more steps and he could move. Stiffly, but he was all right.

He began to jog towards the general direction of the hospital.

He could just see the lights through the snow now, and his attention was diverted from the ice.

He felt his stomach twist into knots with dread before he skidded; his already weak ankle from years past slid out under him and he sprawled onto the ice with a groan as the air was crushed out from his lungs.

A moment passed before he managed to gasp a breath, wheezing as he gulped in air frantically. He looked around, mind reeling to connect the incident.

He must’ve fallen. On ice.

He rolled himself onto his side and pushed himself up as far as he could go.

He staggered to his feet and promptly pitched forwards, hand just barely catching on a car.

He took a step and almost collapsed again, his now painful ankle loudly announcing why.

He shook his head and kept walking, favouring his injured side, using cars and railings where he could.

He trailed into the ED before too long and nodded with thanks at the nurse – Nadine – behind the desk as he pushed a steaming coffee into his frozen hands. She moved aside to let him collapse into her chair.

He took a sip of the scalding liquid, feeling it burn down his throat and looked back at Nadine.

“How are we doing?” he asked her, his voice rough.

She scanned the room quickly before answering.

“We still have people coming in, not as bad as earlier, but the ORs are full.”

He nodded.

“I can stay in the ED,” he offered.

Her head tilted and she regarded him with an odd expression.

“How long were you out there?” she asked accusatorily.

He glanced at the clock.

One a.m.

“Forty minutes maybe?” he guessed, because really, he hadn’t any idea himself.

“Go home. We have three doctors here,” she said flatly. “You look worn out. Go home, get warm, and get some sleep. Dr. Cuddy canceled the early meeting tomorrow.”

He smiled at her gratefully.

“Just so you know, I’d marry you,” he informed her teasingly.

She laughed and shook her head.

“Maybe if I was twenty years younger, kid.” As she stood up, she ruffled his hair like a boy as she walked past.

He grinned, staring into his coffee.

“Tell Mart and Joanne I say hello,” he called after her, and she waved back.

Left alone, he downed the rest of the coffee in a few gulps before gripping the desk tightly.

He used his leverage on the desk to push himself upright and let the desk bear most of his weight. He stood there for a moment, trying to gauge how far it was to the elevators.

House limped by before catching sight of him.

“You’re still here?” He stared at Wilson incredulously.

Wilson sent him a pained smile.

“I went out to help someone,” he heard himself say. He didn’t dare put his foot to the floor; he knew he couldn’t hide the pain if he did. There was no way House would let that go.

The ground moved under Wilson’s feet once more, and he faltered as he tried to regain his balance. His foot hit the ground and gave way as he followed soon after.

He remained sprawled on the floor for a moment, stunned. House limped over and reached down with an arm.

Shame flooded through Wilson as his friend hauled him off the floor and dropped him back into the chair.

House propped himself on the desk and pulled Wilson’s injured leg up beside him, pulling his shoe off gently.

Wilson rolled his eyes but allowed him.

“Good Lord, Wilson, what did you do?”

Wilson looked down to the swollen mess of bruises that was his ankle and he gave a half shrug.

“Ice,” he said simply. House glared at him.

“How?”

He shrugged again, flinching when House began to move his foot to test his range of motion.

“Broke it years ago,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “Always been weak; figures that’s the problem one.”

“Why would you keep that a secret?” House looked at him curiously.

“It’s not a secret, House, never has been.” He winced. “It’s personal.”

“When?” House prodded both the man and the ankle.

“It’s personal!” Wilson hissed, more from pain than anger.

House shook his head and snagged a wrap bandage from a spare trauma kit. Wilson turned his head as House began to wrap his foot.

It was quiet for a moment as House worked, Wilson’s grunts of pain and occasionally swears the only noise.

House slipped Wilson’s sock back on and looked at him. Wilson sent him a pale, shaky smile before taking his shoe and moving to get up.

“Hold on,” House stopped him. “Stay there, I’ll be right back.”

Wilson sunk into the chair, the tight bandage a sudden uncomfortable itch that he can’t scratch.

His eyes closed.

“Wilson, eyes open.”

So tired. 

His eyes snapped open to see House shaking his shoulder. He pushed a pair of crutches towards the younger man.

Wilson stared at them dumbly for a moment.

House sighed.

“For you. Use them.”

Wilson reached out carefully, taking hold of the lightweight metal.

He stared between them and the floor, puzzled. He must have been far more exhausted than he thought.

House shook his head with a muffled snicker before he pulled Wilson up enough to get the crutches under him.

The sudden change in position almost sent Wilson crashing back down except for House’s arm around him.

“Come on, Jimmy,” he said softly, slowing down his own strides for Wilson to catch up. “You’re coming back to the apartment with me.”

Wilson didn’t argue, just followed his friend, a quiet smile at the reversed roles.

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts? *yeets this to you because I'm too tired to actually be dignified*  
Let me know if you want a spin off, I'm thinking about it. If someone wants it, I'll do it.


End file.
